


Angel on Fire

by ShotsbyShae



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2020-12-29 11:23:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21139493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShotsbyShae/pseuds/ShotsbyShae
Summary: You literally fell for Bucky Barnes in 1944, Steve was there when it happened. How is it possible that you’re sitting across from him now in 2012 looking exactly the same?





	1. Chapter 1

**I’m standing in the ashes of who I used to be.**

** **

** _1944_ **

It was a celebration.

A small gathering to acknowledge everything The Howling Commando’s had accomplished thus far in sabotaging Hydra’s operations. There was only one reason you were here – him. Steve Rogers, America’s golden boy. You had to admit the newspaper clippings did not do him justice. He looked so young and innocent in his service uniform that night.

Guilt. It echoed through the very depths of your soul.

You had traveled this far though, so you finished your glass of wine, a little liquid courage, and ran your hands along the front of the emerald green chiffon material of your dress to smooth it out. You inhaled deeply, trying to calm your nerves before you left the bar and waltzed across the room towards him with sheer confidence. The moment he saw you, his blue eyes widened, and he shifted on his feet. Chest out. Shoulders back. You kept your eyes on him, the corner of your lips turning up in a smirk at how utterly distracted he was by you – it was adorable.

An unseen force slammed into your shoulder, knocked you off balance, and strange hands grabbed at your waist and arm as you fell. The man had managed to catch you in time and pulled you back to your feet. His hand slipped from your waist to lower back as he steadied you against his strong frame.

“Dammit Dugan,” the man who was pushed into you hissed as you instinctively clutched his arm for support.

“Oh shit,” a large, burly man in a bowler hat and red moustache gave you a look of embarrassment as he tipped his hat. “Sorry ma’am.”

“Sorry about that,” the stranger’s hand was still on your lower back and heat radiated from his palm. Your skin prickled where his fingers gripped you ever so slightly through the dress, his hand felt as if it encompassed you wholly. For a moment you were terrified the fire that pulsed through your veins might consume you both. Dark hair and eyes that were blue as the ocean only emphasized the boyish grin on his face. “They’re idiots.”

This feeling was unlike anything you’d ever felt before. Lust? Love? One thing was certain, for the first time in a long time you felt safe. You smiled at him because his charm was infectious, “It’s okay.”

“I’m James,” he offered his hand as an introduction and you took it carefully. “My friend’s call me Bucky.”

You had given him your name and as he brushed his lips across your knuckles you knew things would never be the same. Sergeant James Barnes stole your heart that night and saved you from yourself without knowing. He wasn’t who you had come for, but sometimes fate has other plans.

The two of you fell in love hard and fast. The kind of love that absorbs two people so fully that nothing else exists in the entire world except each other. He was your first real love – first real mistake – being in love with Bucky had meant bringing his best friend into your life.

The photo Bucky had carried with him of he and Steve showed the person Rogers was before the war, the shield, the serum – a rail-thin kid from Brooklyn. Bucky had told you stories about having to save him from fights he’d get into and how awkward he was with girls. He’d also tell you how proud he was that Steve had volunteered for that experiment. Bucky wanted you like Steve, because that was important to him – Steve was important to him.

You tried not to like Steve Rogers, you really had. After all, you knew where that road would lead. There was no escaping it though, because Bucky was a brother to him. They were a packaged deal. You didn’t get one without the other. So, Steve had befriended you, against your better judgement.

_“Watch out for each other,” you told them. _

_“Always,” Bucky placed a chaste kiss against your lips before he turned to join Dugan and Morita. _

_“Will do,” Steve gave a small smile, warm and assuring._

They were just young men – boys – fighting the monsters of the world. Not exactly the same types of monsters you were accustomed to, but monsters nonetheless.

One year felt like forever.

In the middle of a war, you had snuck around to places to you shouldn’t have been, just to spend a few moments with the guy you loved and the one you shouldn’t have met.

It was amazing.

Until it wasn’t.

People die. It’s the curse of being human. That’s one reason you’d never let your guard down before. Bucky Barnes had been worth the momentary lapse in judgement though, Steve too, even though you hated to admit it – he was a good friend.

When you lost them both, you had been devastated, but in your life, you knew you would outlive people.

Lose those you love.

That didn’t make it any easier.

However, with Steve Rogers gone you had nothing left to lose – literally. 

**2012**

You had seen the news – The Avengers had saved New York. 

At first you thought it was someone imitating him, just a cheap knock off behind the mask. So, you had come to see for yourself, after all, it’s been over sixty years.

They said he was frozen in the ice.

What is your excuse going to be?

You watch as he sits across the patio from you, a half dozen empty tables between you, sketching away in his notebook. Steve used to do the same thing, all those years ago, always drawing in his spare time. Against your better judgement, you pull your sunglasses lower on your nose, peering over the rim of them to get a better look.

It’s him – it’s _really_ him.

The same golden boy you remember, he’s not aged at all. Your mind is racing and for a moment you just stare at him as a flood of memories wash over you. Your heart stops as his eyes flick up from his drawing and immediately focus on you.

He recognizes you instantly. You’re still as beautiful as the last time he saw you, but that was over sixty years ago. Steve blinks, afraid his eyes are deceiving him. His mind is telling him there’s no way it’s you, but his heart is reminding him that in a world full of aliens and gods – maybe – just maybe the universe could give him this.

A piece of home.

He’s been stumbling through a world that’s not his own. Everything has changed. At least when he puts on the suit, he has a job to do, responsibilities as Captain America.

He’s a hero.

A damn national treasure.

Take away the red, white, and blue, and he’s just Steve Rogers, a man who doesn’t belong here.

This isn’t his time – it isn’t either of your time.

Why are you both here?

The recognition is evident on his features and you quickly push your sunglasses back up on your face as you carefully stand, trying not to draw attention to yourself. It’s too late though, because he’s on his feet, notepad forgotten on the table.

He’s halfway across the patio as you head for the sidewalk, calling out behind you, “Hey.” You don’t stop, but he’s persistent as he chases after you. “Excuse me, miss?”

You pick up the pace, but he doesn’t relent. Images of your smiling face flash through his mind. Bucky’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist, his chin on your shoulder, the wide smile on his face crinkled the corners of his eyes. He had been happy for his friend, even if there was a tinge of jealousy there. Steve had saw you first that night, but after everything Hydra had done to Bucky – he was the one who needed you.

Rogers has to jog to catch up with you and gently places his hand on your shoulder to stop your escape. For a moment you forget to breath, his touch familiar – yet foreign. You close your eyes as he circles around to get a better look at you. An almost silent whisper falling from his lips, “It _is _you.” You look up at him slowly, staring into his curious blue eyes as he continues, “How – how are you here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you remark. 

“Long story.”

“Mine’s longer.”

***

Steve tells you about everything, the fight with Schmidt, the tesseract, and crashing the _Valkyrie_, then about Loki and the battle of New York. You can see a happiness in his eyes when he looks at you, as if no time has passed.

It has though and so much has changed.

“How?” his brows furrow. “How _are_ you here?”

You don’t want him to know the whole truth – not yet. You’ve lost a lot since he’s been away and having him here brings back feelings you’d long since forgotten.

You didn’t think it was possible anymore.

“It’s complicated,” you say before taking a sip of your coffee.

Steve knows you’re holding something back and his hand finds yours on the small patio table between you and he gives it a gentle squeeze, “Tell me.”

He had developed this uncanny ability to ready you like a book during that time together in the war.

Maybe it was from being a third wheel in your relationship with Bucky.

Maybe it was something else.

It had been wrong, and you knew it, but fate be damned. There had been something very pure about Steve Rogers – innocent. In a world full of monsters and demons, he was good and kind, and oblivious to it all.

“I can’t die,” you say simply as if that sums up everything he needs to know, “technically.” He stares at you for a moment, waiting for you to elaborate, but you take another sip of your coffee instead.

Steve raises his eyebrows after a few moments of silence, “I’m going to need more than that.”

“I’m not human,” you finally say, your fingernail anxiously scraping at the chipped paint on the table. “I’m what they call a Phoenix.”

His blue eyes are inquisitive, and you can see the flurry of questions waiting there, “Like the mythical bird?” You nod and he continues with boy like curiosity, “Do you breathe fire?”

“No,” you shake your head with a smirk and hold your hand up, wiggling your fingers. “That comes from these.”

He gives a slow nod as he contemplates another question, “Can you fly?” You give him another shake of your head and he takes a deep breath as he leans back in his chair. “Okay.”

“Okay?” it’s your turn to look surprised. “I just told you I’m not human and you’re just going to roll with it?”

“I fought aliens two months ago,” he gives you a half-smile, “alongside an Asgardian. Weird isn’t so weird anymore.”

Truth be told, as long as you aren’t Loki, he could care less what you are. You’re here. That’s all that matters. Seeing your face brings back the good memories of the war, those small moments in time, which he’d forgotten about.

“You know what we should do,” Steve says suddenly, as a thought crosses his mind. “Let’s go see a movie.” Your brows furrow together in confusion at him, the large smile on his face making him look like a teenager. “Remember? Me, you, and Buck, we used to talk about when the war was over and we got back home, we were going to spend all day at the theater just watching whatever was playing. Eating popcorn.”

“With butter,” you do remember those discussions.

“Loads of butter,” his eyes widen with excitement. “What do you say?”

You just got him back, you’re not ready to let him go just yet, even though you know you should. It’s selfish, and you know that, but you agree, “Deal.”

The two of you spend the rest of the day watching movies and binging on theater popcorn and snacks while reminiscing about the past and how much things have changed. When Steve talks about how everything is different now, you can see a glimpse of that rail-thin kid Bucky had always protected.

You know what it feels like to be lost, and even though you had told yourself you wouldn’t stay – you can’t leave him like this.

He was Bucky’s best friend – your friend.

**2013**

_Just a few months, until he’s more adjusted. _

That was the phrase you had started telling yourself in the beginning. Steve had no one and you couldn’t leave him. He needed you and the fact your friendship was able to pick up right where the two of you had left it in 1945 made it easy to stay.

But you shouldn’t be here.

You know it.

Yet, here you are, assisting Captain America and the Avengers in taking down another Hydra facility, this time in D.C. of all places. The fighting, the violence, it’s too much. Fueling the flame inside of you, making you irrational sometimes, but you can’t tell him that. Then you would have to explain everything, and you can’t do that either.

The mission is going according to plan until two Hydra agents get the drop on Barton and you’re the only one to see it. You react without thinking and your right arm juts out towards the two agents, hand igniting in a beautiful combination of red and orange flares. The action immediately causing the two men to burst into flames. Their screams of agony are short-lived as your manipulate the blaze with your hand. It only takes a few moments until nothing is left of the men but a pile of ashes.

Clint raises an eyebrow in concern because you’ve never used your powers like that, then gives you small nod of appreciation for saving his life.

“What the hell was that?” Steve says from behind you, ignoring Tony’s ‘_Language Cap’ _over the comms.

“Sorry,” your tone almost flippant.

“We’ve talked about that,” he reprimands you, making you feel like a child, which only pisses you off. “Incapacitate only. Killing is a last resort. We don’t do that.”

“_You_ don’t kill people,” the cold look in your eyes is one he’s seen before.

“Neither do you,” Steve voice is still firm, calmer.

Shaking your head, you glare at him, “You don’t fucking know me. There’s a whole world of bad out there Steve. It can’t all be contained. Some of it has to be killed.”

You know you’ve said too much and you storm off. You’re going to have to tell him, but you’re too angry at him right now. You died too many times during the sixty years Steve was frozen in the ice. It’s taken a toll and you know he’s seen it, his blue eyes filling with concern and uncertainty at some of your actions. You aren’t the same carefree soul you were when he and Bucky met you, in fact, you know there’s not much of your soul left at this point.

That was part of being a Phoenix.

You and Steve have talked some on the subject of Phoenixes. He knows you’re a rare species who can control fire with your hands, although he’s not a fan of that. You haven’t mentioned the issue with your soul though, or how he plays a part in your story. There’s no easy way to tell him and you know it will be easier to leave – disappear.

Steve approaches the quinjet seeing everyone on the team except you and glances to Tony his eyes questioning your whereabouts without him saying anything.

“Hey Firestarter,” Tony says over the comms, even though you hate that nickname. “You still inside?”

“Yea,” you respond.

No one expects the explosion that originates from somewhere inside the warehouse and rocks the quinjet, but Steve’s eyes go wide in horror. Tony has to grab him to stop him from running into the flames. Metal arms cling to him tightly, as his world goes up in bright orange and red waves.

You told Steve you couldn’t die – _technically_. He never asked what technically meant because he was afraid to.

He searches the warehouse himself after the firetrucks leave. Tony and Natasha help, but there’s nothing left.

This is _technically_.

Later that night, you wake up in the rubble of the warehouse – naked and cold.

You know you’ve stayed too long. You can barely feel any of yourself left inside and it scares you. Feeling completely empty, void of any emotion or empathy. That is a fate worse than death.

It’s time to let him go. He’ll be okay without you. He has Tony and Romanoff now. You should leave while you can, but Steve Rogers is the only friend you’ve ever really had – which in itself is a cruel fucking joke.

***

You rap your knuckles against the wooden door in a rhythmic beat. The hem of the oversized bright yellow t-shirt you'd stolen from the construction worker’s truck brushes against the middle of your thighs, and it reminds you just how numb your body feels from the cold. It had been a long walk from the warehouse to here.

Steve opens the door to the apartment, red-rimmed eyes staring at you in shock. Your face has smudges of ash, sprinkles of it are in your hair, and you smell like the thick smoke of a campfire.

“Have you been crying?” Your tone edging on derisive as you enter the apartment.

“I thought you died,” he replies slowly, before closing the door hard behind you.

“And?” You can’t help the cockiness in your voice, chalk it up to being almost soulless, and you turn to him. “I told you, I couldn’t –”

His mouth is on yours, shutting you up as he pushes you back against the wall. One hand grips your waist firmly while the other tangles in the hair at the nape of your neck. Your mind races because this isn’t supposed to happen – it can’t. You shouldn’t be here.

The muscles in his shoulders flex under your fingers as he tightens his hold on you, pinning you to the wall with his body. Steve’s kiss is punishing and as his tongue slides past your lips, your body arches into him instinctively, overriding your thoughts. His assertiveness makes you forget the reason behind your visit, the warm, wet sensation between your thighs quickly becoming your new motivation. 

He presses his forehead against yours as he breaks the kiss for a moment, whispering against your lips, “I thought I lost you.” He has never looked at you like this before, with such longing and desire, and you feel it.

_Really _feel it.

The small part of you that is left is suddenly overcome with a surge of emotions and feelings.

Joy. Fear. Sympathy. Confusion. Love. All colliding together, twisting and spiraling inside of you like a whirlwind. Making you question yourself, ‘_When did I fall in love with him?_’

This need you’re feeling.

This ache.

You’ve forgotten what tears feel like as they prick the corners of your eyes and you cup his face gently with your hands, staring up at him. Your golden boy, “I’m here – I’m right here, Steve.”

It would be easier if he fucked you. Cold and hard against the wall of his apartment or with reckless desperation in the shower as water streams around the two of you, but he doesn’t. Steve Rogers makes love to you that night. Forcing you to melt as rough hands trace every curve and line of your body with feather like strokes and tender touches. His mouth both insatiable and intimate with kisses, expressing his feelings for you without words.

It’s raw, intense, and passionate.

You shouldn’t have come back, it’s not fair to him.

But you’re thankful you did.

Because you’ve never felt more alive – the irony of that is not lost on you.

***

The next morning you’re sitting at the kitchen table when Steve comes out of the bedroom and he can immediately see the look on your face. He notices the duffel bag by the door, and it makes his heart stop.

“We need to talk,” you say ominously, and the man slowly moves to sit across from you at the table.

“I don’t like how this looks,” there’s a noticeable tick in his jaw as he keeps his eyes focused on you.

“I didn’t tell you everything – about what I am,” you begin to explain, wrapping your hands around the coffee mug in front of you nervously. “Everytime a Phoenix dies and is reborn, or rises, a part of our soul burns off. It’s an incentive really, to keep you from dying. The more you die, the sooner you become a soulless monster, not caring about anything or anyone. Killing others becomes a second nature to us then, at least while we have a soul, we can keep that part of us in check.” You watch him closely as you speak, making sure he’s understanding everything as you say it.

“So, the two men at the warehouse?”

“Yea,” you nod shamefully. “Phoenixes _are_ immortal, but we are destined to be killed eventually. A final death, one which we don’t rise from. When a Phoenix rises for the first time, there’s a name you’re given. The name of the person who will ultimately be the one to kill you – bring about your final death. Usually a hunter, or someone along those lines. Sometimes, that person may not enter your life for hundreds or thousands of years.” You glance out the window thoughtfully, “You have no idea what it’s like to know the name of the person who will kill you. Live with that for years, but you can’t run from fate.”

Steve sits across from you solemnly as he processes the information you’re sharing, “Can you change it?”

You shake your head. “I wanted to though. I wanted to change my destiny, kill the person whose name I was given before he had a chance to kill me. I found him too, but fate had other plans,” you glance away from him. “She’s cruel that way – fate – destiny or whatever it is that’s written in the stars. None of it would have ever happened if I’d not been trying to change it.”

“Whose name were you given?” he asks quietly.

“Yours,” you say, looking back over to him. “Steve Rogers.”

It looks as if you’ve punched him in the gut. That night, all those years ago, when he saw the prettiest girl at the party walking his way, it was because you had planned on killing him. Because eventually he was supposed to kill you.

“I never wanted to be your friend Steve,” you let the words slip out quietly. “Then Bucky happened, and I let my guard down. That wasn’t fair to you and I’m sorry.”

His mouth goes dry as he shakes his head, “But I wouldn’t –”

“You won’t have a choice Steve,” you reply. “When my soul is gone, that’s it.”

There’s a moment of silence between the two of you as he shakes his head in frustration. “How much is left?” he questions you, his brows furrowing together. “Of your soul?”

“Not enough.”

“There has to be a way we can fix this,” he tries to reason with you.

“No, we can’t,” you look at him hopelessly. “This is it. We both know what’s coming and I need you to promise me, when it happens, you’ll take care it.”

“I can’t do that,” the pain on his face is enough to break your heart.

“You have too. When there’s nothing left of _me_, I’ll just be a shell. The person you love won’t be here anymore, I’ll be a monster,” you can see the wretched expression on his face as you stand up from the table. “Promise me.” Steve looks out the window as he starts to chew on his bottom lip. You reach down, placing your hand on top of his, squeezing it gently, “Please.”

He glances up at you with glossy blue eyes. He’s broken because of you and you’ll never forgive yourself for this. You shouldn’t have come back.

“I promise,” his words are barely audible.

“I should go,” you say before leaning down to kiss his cheek gently. “I _do_ love you.” The words come out as a whisper against his skin before you stand back up. You make it halfway to the door when you hear the chair scraping across the hardwood floor roughly. Steve is on you by the time you turn around, his hand flying to the side of you neck roughly, pulling you back to him. His lips crash into yours hard and desperate as tears slowly stream down your face.

Sometimes your soulmate isn’t the person you fall madly in love with, sometimes it’s the person you least expect.

A beautiful disaster.

Steve Rogers is your soulmate.

He’s also the man who will have to kill you one day when your soul no longer exists.

The thought of it shatters your heart and you’d give anything if you could take that burden away from him, but fate is cruel.

“I’ll see you around Steve,” you state quietly as you move to grab your duffel bag. 

He watches as you open the door to his apartment, his face full of sadness as he says the words firmly, “I hope not.”


	2. Unforgettable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a year and Steve reaches out with news. There shouldn’t be enough of your soul left to care, but the thought of him and a deep dive into the past, proves otherwise.

**How the thought of you does things to me.**

**2014**

_Buzz. Buzz._

You glance at the unknown number on your phone’s screen for a moment before answering it.

“Hello.”

“Don’t hang up,” Steve says quickly. “Please.”

Just hearing his voice takes you back.

It’s been over a year, but you can still feel him. Taste his lips on yours. You’ve gone so long without feeling anything at all, then one phone call from him and _bam_. What’s left of your soul feels as if it’s trying to flutter back to life – you still love him.

He shouldn’t contact you.

It’s not fair – he knows how your story ends.

“You can’t call –” you begin quietly, but he interrupts you.

“Bucky’s alive.”

Everything stops.

The numbness starts at your scalp and runs the entire length of your body.

You grasp the edge of the counter as your knees buckle, “Wh – What?

“He’s alive, but he’s not himself,” Steve responds. “Hydra brainwashed him, turned him into a weapon.” There’s a pause on the other end of the line before he continues. “He remembered me though.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“He needs help,” he says softly. “And if he can remember me – I _know_ he’ll remember you.”

You take a deep breath, “And you think I can find him?”

“I know you can.”

“Steve – I don’t know,” you swallow the lump in your throat.

“He was happiest when he was with you,” there’s an underlying sadness in his voice. “I know you loved him too – still do – if it’s not too late.” He waits for you to respond, but you don’t, so he asks. “Is it too late?”

“Send me what you have,” you respond quietly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

When you hang up with Steve you move across to the shelf beside your flat screen TV, carefully grabbing the small light blue storage box that sits there.

These thoughts – feelings – that a simple phone call with Steve can incite confuses you. You’ve gone so long now without any empathy.

It should be no different with him.

Or with the thought of Bucky.

Why is it?

Sitting back down on the edge of your coffee table you place the box on your knees, pulling the lid off gently. The box contains important things such as documents, photographs, an old pocket watch. Mementos of the many lives you’ve lived.

You gather the aging photographs – all black and white – to look through them. One is of Bucky and Steve, both of them are smiling. They look so young and innocent – just boys really. There’s one of Bucky sitting against a tree, his legs outstretched on either side of you as you lean back against his chest. His arms firmly wrapped around your waist as you read from the book in your hands – Robert Frost.

Steve had taken that photo.

It’s one of your favorites.

The next photo you had almost forgotten about, Morita had taken it.

There had been so much snow that day.

Bucky is standing on one side of the army jeep, arm reared back, ready to launch the snowball in his hand. On the other side of the jeep, Steve stands tall, pointing his finger across at Barnes, a smirk on his face. You’re slung over his shoulder like a rag doll, his arm across the back of your legs as your small gloved fists pound against his back.

**Winter, 1944**

“If you throw that snowball,” Steve glares at you across the hood of the jeep, “you’re declaring war.”

You narrow your eyes at him mischievously as you pack the wad of snow tighter between your gloved hands. “No need to be dramatic Captain, it’s just a little snow.”

Rearing your arm back, you watch Steve’s eyebrows raise, “I’m warning you – don’t you dare –”

_Splat._

The snow pelts him in the head from behind and a wide smile spreads across your face. Steve recognizes the laughter as he slowly turns to see the person responsible. Bucky clutches his chest laughing relentlessly at Steve’s look of betrayal.

“Really,” Rogers shakes his head. “You wanna do this?”

_Splat._

Another snowball pelts him from behind and Bucky smirks, “She does.” The look on his face changing slowly to a warm smile as his gaze focuses on you. “And I’m with her, pal.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Rogers remarks, glancing back to see you packing together another snowball as you move in front of the jeep. A boyish grin crosses his face, “You two want to play – let’s play.”

He rushes you, and the squeal that escapes is almost embarrassing as you try to run, throwing the snowball at him. It barely hits the top of his shoulder, exploding upon impact, but it doesn’t faze him as he leans down, scooping you up and over his shoulder.

“Steve,” you laugh as you hit his back with your fists. “Put me down.”

“Hey,” Bucky stares at Steve warningly, as he stops on the other side of the jeep. “Give her back.”

“Nope,” Rogers responds playfully, pointing at him as Barnes rears back with another snowball. “Two against one isn’t a fair fight.” He grabs a handful of snow, packing it easily, as if your weight across his shoulder is nothing. “Now, it’s a fair fight.”

The two of them stare at one another for a moment, before they both throw almost simultaneously. Bucky tries to dodge, but the snowball hits his shoulder, as Steve attempts to sidestep the assault to no avail.

“Hey!” you protest, as the other snowball explodes against the backside of your left thigh.

“Sorry doll,” Bucky’s apology can barely be heard through everyone’s laughter.

***

Later that night, you’re slowly pulled from peaceful sleep as his arm tightens around your waist. A slow smile crosses your face, thinking he’s up for round three until his body jerks against yours, followed by a small whimper.

It’s not the first time this has happened.

Your body always hyperaware of his.

It’s nightmares again.

You sit up, turning to him, hands gently touching his face, “Hey – Buck.” His eyes jerk open – pain stricken – filled with terror. “It’s okay.” You say quietly as he sits up, eyes darting around frantically before settling on yours.

“Hey,” voice dazed from sleep.

You give him a small smile, hand cupping the side of his face, “Hey soldier.”

Those two simple words are a reminder that he’s here with you – safe – no longer a prisoner of Hydra’s. Some days he’s certain you’re a figment of his imagination, that no one could love him the way you do. To know him almost better than he knows himself, but then he remembers that Steve sees you – so you must be real.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly, brushing your hair back with his fingers, wrapping them firmly around the back of your neck. “But I’m never letting you go.” Pulling you to him, he presses his lips to yours tenderly, his hand gripping you tightly as if you’ll slip through his fingers.

***

It’s been a few weeks since you’ve seen him, but you know exactly which joint they’ll be at to celebrate their latest victory. You’d packed the dress for just such an occasion. The green chiffon one you were wearing all those months ago when you met.

The familiar boisterous laughter reaches your ears before you get through the doors. Once inside, you spot Bucky standing at the bar as Dugan whistles, turning everyone’s attention at the table towards you. To you, there isn’t anyone else in the room as you make your way across to the dark-haired man. The smile on his face is warm – enamored by the sight of you.

“God I’ve missed you,” he says quietly as you approach. All the noise in his head instantly silenced by your presence.

“Hey soldier,” you croon, brushing your fingers across the front of his lapel.

He takes in your appearance, “You look – gorgeous.”

The band in the back of the room begins to play and a wicked grin crosses your face as you raise one brow, “You going to ask me to dance?”

“If I ask you to dance then, you know they’re all going to ask you,” he nods toward the table of commandos.

“Well, that’s the sacrifice you’ll have to make,” he can’t resist the smirk on your face as you bite the inside of your bottom lip. “I guess the real question is – am I worth it?”

There’s no hesitation as he slips his arm around your waist, pulling you close, the grin on his face infectious, “Always doll – always.”

Dugan allows the two of you to dance for a full song before stepping in. You steal glances at the table, watching as Steve and Bucky laugh with the other men. Dancing first with Dugan then Jones, and now Falsworth.

“Okay,” you’re laughing after the last dance at something Falsworth said as the two of you reach the table. You run your fingers through Barnes’ short hair. “Who’s up?”

Bucky grabs your hand in his, kissing the back of it as a thought strikes him, “Steve.” He glances past you at his friend who chokes on his drink.

“What?”

You’re too happy in this moment with Bucky to be worried about consequence or fate right now. “Come on Rogers.” You smile at him.

“Oh, I – I don’t –” Steve tries to protest as you grab his arm, pulling him from his chair.

“Go on,” Bucky urges. “Careful though, he’s got two left feet.”

The tension in his body is almost comical to you as you go through the motions of where his hands go, “You okay, Captain?”

He takes a deep breath, licking his lips nervously, “Yea.”

_Still awkward with girls,_ Bucky thinks to himself as he watches the two of you, slowly sipping the whiskey in his glass.

“How’s he been?” you question Steve quietly, glancing over at Barnes.

“Good,” Steve responds with a nod, comfortable with this change of conversation. “He hasn’t slept much.”

“Nightmares,” you look up at Rogers.

He nods his agreement, then gives a small smile, “It’s good you’re here. He needs you.”

_I need him too_, you think to yourself as you look back over to the table.

“You look really nice by the way,” he comments, and you look back up, brow furrowed, causing him to stammer. “I – I mean you _always_ look nice – just tonight is a different kind of nice.”

“You’re _really_ bad at this,” you smirk with a shake of your head, causing him to laugh at himself. “But, thank you.”

He gives you a smile, blue eyes shining, and you don’t catch, but Steve does.

_A moment._

He feels guilty immediately, but he knows why his friend had fallen for you so hard, because he’s finding it hard not to fall too. 

Once the song ends, the two of you make your way back over to the table where a conversation is already underway.

“Well, if I don’t make it back,” Falsworth says. “Then yes Dugan, you can have my entire record collection.” The burly man grins as he slaps his hands together.

“All I have are baseball cards,” Jones comments.

“I like baseball,” Morita raises his hand. “I’ll take ‘em.”

“What’s happening here?” you question, raising an eyebrow.

“Well sweetheart,” Dugan replies. “You take your most prized possession and pick someone to leave it to in case – well – you know.”

“That’s morbid,” you glance around at the men who all shrug their shoulders.

“Barnes,” Morita says. “What do you have?”

The dark-haired man takes another sip before glancing up to where you and Steve are still standing, “Just those two.”

“I call Cap,” Dugan jokes. “Or do they come as a pair?”

“I’m fairly sure Captain Rogers would be left watching over her,” Falsworth remarks and Steve begins to shake his head in protest.

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Steve says.

“I don’t _need_ to be watched over,” you laugh as Bucky takes your hand, pulling you into his lap.

“I know that doll,” he says, kissing your cheek. “But he does.”

A few laughs erupt at Rogers’ expense and you smile, “So, I’m in charge?” Bucky nods and you glance back over to Steve who is less than thrilled with this conversation. “Would that make me Captain?”

“You could be co-Captain,” Dugan smiles and Steve gives him an unimpressed glare as you clap your hands.

Nearly a year ago you had planned to kill the man standing beside you.

One day he’s going to kill you.

Because one day you’ll be a monster.

You’re a Phoenix – it’s how this works.

You weren’t supposed to let your guard down and fall in love. 

Being a Phoenix is complicated.

Falling in love with Bucky Barnes wasn’t.

It was easy.

**Bucharest, 2014**

You don’t how he’ll react to seeing you.

If he’s still the brainwashed assassin Hydra created.

Worst case scenario – he kills you.

Which means you shouldn’t feel anything when you come back this time.

You’ll be soulless.

Much like him.

The Winter Soldier.

Or maybe Steve’s right, maybe he will remember you.

_What then?_

Explain to him what you are? Explain that after all these years you and Steve found each other – that you had watched out for his friend – that somehow you fell in love with him.

How are you supposed to explain to him that his best friend is destined to kill you?

Your mind is running in circles with questions as you make your way down the street. Every worry you have fades away as you spot him up ahead in the crowd of people. Your heart begins to race as he turns slightly.

Barnes isn’t quite the same man you once knew. He was strong, but never _strong _like Rogers was after the serum. Now he’s six foot of solid muscle – a weapon – lethal. His hair is longer, a dark ball cap is pulled low on top of it, but his eyes are still the same intense blue.

The look on his face as sirens wail in the distance is one you’ve seen before.

He’s nervous.

Panicked.

Just like he was after Hydra had their hands on him the first time. You can’t imagine what he’s been through, what he’s carrying with him. Seeing him with that almost terrified expression, it pains you and that’s something you haven’t felt since walking out of Steve’s apartment that day.

There might not be any hope for your own soul, but maybe you could help save his. 

He senses your presence as you approach and he turns carefully, eyes widening as his gaze meets yours. The realization apparent on his face as his mouth opens slightly, unsure what to say. All the noise in his mind fading away as you move closer toward him.

Visions of you flash through his mind – another life.

Before Hydra, before he became an assassin.

A ghost.

The green dress you were wearing when he bumped into you.

Dancing. The feel of your body pressing against his as you spin around in circles with him.

The taste of your lips. Hair falling around your shoulders, your skin glistening with sweat, and the catch in your breath as you moan his name. He remembers what it feels like to be inside you, the way you taste, how soft and warm your mouth is. Every line and curve of your body comes rushing back to him.

An overwhelming surge of emotion.

He loves you – always has – even when he didn’t know himself.

Part of him wants to reach for you – to feel you again.

You see it in his eyes.

He recognizes you.

Amongst the pain and regret.

He _knows _you.

There’s no hesitation as you place your hand on his chest, feeling the steady heartbeat through the red material of his shirt. He holds your gaze, not flinching or backing away from your touch. You give him a small, reassuring smile even though your heart is breaking.

All this time he’s been alone.

Hurting.

If you had only known, maybe you could have saved him.

Somewhere deep in his memory – untouched by Hydra – there’s a part of him longing for the words.

Your voice is soft as a tear slips down your cheek.

But it sounds just as he remembers it.

Those two words falling from your lips.

The ones that let him know he’s safe – that he’s home.

“Hey soldier.”


End file.
